


Love is a Growing Up

by plumgal1899



Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types, Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-03-27
Updated: 2014-03-26
Packaged: 2018-01-17 04:31:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,635
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1373986
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/plumgal1899/pseuds/plumgal1899
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Everlark canon universe. Katniss and Peeta must come to terms with their daughter growing up. Girl toastbaby's 18th birthday.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Love is a Growing Up

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! This fic was written for my friend Aly (nightlockinthecave over on tumblr) for her birthday. This work belongs in the A Change of Heart universe, but it is capable of standing alone. A Change of Heart comes before this if you, like me, feel compelled to read in order. ;)  
> It was originally intended as a one-shot, and a short one at that. But as I wrote I got all of these head canons that I can’t get into right now, as I don’t want to spoil what you are about to read. So I am thinking if there is interest I will continue this and make it a very short WIP, with this as the prologue. So this fic will be rated M for upcoming chapters, but this chapter is very much rated T.  
> Huge thanks are owed to titania522 who beta’d this piece for me with almost no notice whatsoever (and in addition to being an awesome beta she is an awesome writer so go check out her stuff if you haven’t yet).  
> As always, thank you so much for reading! Please read the end note, and please let me know if you are interested in seeing this fic continue in the manner I am thinking.

_“Love does not begin and end the way we seem to think it does. Love is a battle; love is a war. Love is a growing up.” –James A. Baldwin_

* * *

I’m roused from a blissfully dreamless sleep by the sound of voices and pounding muffled through the bedroom door from down the hallway. “Come on, Yew! I gotta pee!”

I smile slightly to myself and burrow deeper under the covers as I feel Peeta shifting behind me. “What are they on about now,” he murmurs sleepily, nuzzling his face into the skin where my shoulder meets my neck. His gesture sends a shiver of excitement through me- my response to him has not diminished even after all these years.

“I think Yew is hogging their bathroom,” I tell him, stretching my limbs a little and purposely letting my bare legs skate along his leg and my bottom press into his groin.

Peeta groans a little, wrapping his left arm around me tighter. He has just let his knuckles graze across my exposed nipple and is beginning to run his lips up my neck to my earlobe when the pounding from down the hall reaches us again, even louder this time.

“Yew! Come on! If I piss on the floor, you’re cleaning it up. What are you even doing in there?!” It sounds as though he is kicking the door now.

Peeta releases a frustrated growl and rolls away from me onto his back fisting his fingers through his hair. “Rye!” he hollers.

I hear Rye’s loud footsteps approaching and barely have time to yank the comforter back up to cover myself before our bedroom door bursts open. Looking at Rye frequently sends a pang through me. He is fourteen now and is the spitting image of his father at that age, with a mass of messy blond curls and a strong, solid physique. I can’t help but be reminded of the boy with the bread; the young man that Peeta was before the last vestiges of our innocence was stripped away from us so cruelly.

“Dad, Yew has been in there for at least an hour! I swear to god I am about two seconds from pissing everywhere!” Ah, here is the evidence that he is my son. The fiery temperament and flashing silver eyes he got from me.

“Watch your language,” Peeta intones mildly, but shooting our son a pointed look. “Use our bathroom.”

Rye quickly scampers into our bathroom and I roll toward Peeta and tuck myself into his side. “So much for your one day of sleeping in this week,” I laugh, running a hand across his bare chest. His work in the bakery kept his body strong and fit when other men our age started filling out around the middle several years ago. When we were children we could have never even imagined a world where people carried extra weight in our home territory- District 12 as it was known then.

Peeta lays his hand on top of mine where it rests at the center of his chest, where I can feel his heartbeat throbbing steadily beneath my palm. He leans over and his lips have barely touched mine when we are interrupted again by Rye as he emerges from the bathroom. “Ew, gross! You can at least wait till I’m out of the room so that you don’t traumatize me.”

‘Trauma’ is a word our children have been exposed to a lot in their lives, as they know what Peeta and I endured in our young lives, and what our world was like before they were born. All of Panem still bears the scars of that time. I take solace in the knowledge that neither of our children have ever experienced true trauma, and it is this that allows Rye to throw the word out so frivolously.

“Go on Rye. You and Yew can get breakfast started. We’ll be down in a few minutes.”

“Are you guys even wearing clothes? So gross. Why can’t you guys just be like normal parents who don’t like each other?” he moans petulantly as he exits the room.

We listen for a minute as his steps recede down the hall and he pounds on the bathroom door one more time. “Yew! Dad says you have to help me with breakfast!” Then his steps thunder down the stairs loudly.

“His every move is at maximum volume… just like his father,” I say, smiling as I lean up to kiss Peeta again.

* * *

 

A short while later I lay spent and panting on Peeta’s chest, still straddling his hips, listening to his heartbeat slow and feeling the rise and fall of his chest beneath my cheek. His hands smooth down my back as the last tremors of our rushed lovemaking subside. It seems that that is the way of it more often than not lately- rushed, hushed, and with the impending threat of interruption from one of our offspring. But even after over 30 years we still haven’t seemed to have gotten our fill of each other, and I am grateful for that.

We take a quick shower together and dress for the day before heading downstairs to where we can hear Yew and Rye laughing about something, their spat from this morning already forgotten.

“What’s so funny?” I ask as Peeta and I join them at the large living room window that looks out onto Victor’s Village. The function of our neighborhood has changed, but old habits die hard, and everybody still refers to this area of town by the old name.

“Papa’s geese got out again,” Yew laughs glancing at us as she stands from where she is kneeling next to Rye on the couch. She’s so beautiful in her light green sundress with her dark hair cascading around her shoulders in soft curls. Her long morning in the bathroom was clearly spent taking extra time with her appearance. I can’t say I’m surprised.

Yew walks directly toward Peeta and I see that he is holding his arms out for a hug. They squeeze each other tight, Peeta lifting Yew a few inches off the ground, just as they have done since she was a very little girl. “Happy Birthday, Little Bap,” I hear Peeta murmur quietly, pressing a kiss into Yew’s hair.

I smile to myself hearing the nickname he made up for her when she was just a tiny little bundle of warm softness in our arms. I take a deep breath to repress the tears I feel welling in my eyes as I watch Peeta hold his baby girl, and I recall all the years that he longed to bring her into the world while I resisted. And all the years following that she, and then Rye, have brought so much laughter and joy and meaning into our lives.

“Thank you, Daddy,” she says softly as they step away from each other. Both of their eyes look glassy.

Peeta is every bit the amazing father I knew he would be; patient, protective, indulgent… usually _overly_ indulgent. But he, Haymitch, and I have made a good team for Yew and Rye, just as we always have, and our children have had a better life than I could have possibly ever dreamed for them. But Yew has always been her daddy’s girl. They are so alike in taste and temperament. Like her father, Yew is gentle and charming and compassionate. I swear she thinks it is her personal mission to feed every stray animal in town. And she has Peeta’s charisma absolutely. Since before she could talk she was charming the daylights out of every person she met- a trait which has only increased as she has grown into a stunning young woman. I think every boy in town is a least half in love with her, much to Peeta’s chagrin.

Rye on the other hand, is more like me. He is restless and he emits a sense of passion that is always simmering just below the surface. Thankfully his fiery disposition is tempered by an easy wit and natural magnetism. He always seems to draw people in, as though they know there is the possibility they will get burned, but they just can’t seem to help themselves. I think Rye gets this from Peeta, but he says it is all me… Then again, Peeta has always said I don’t know the effect I can have.

My reverie is broken when I hear Peeta clear his throat roughly and turn to Rye, “Alright, Sparky. Let’s go help the old man wrangle his geese.” Rye rolls his eyes at the nickname as Peeta wraps his arm around his neck in a gentle headlock, mussing his hands through the boy’s hair. Yew is laughing again as they walk through the front door, Peeta muttering about Haymitch being too old to be chasing after geese and how you can’t tell the stubborn old ass anything.

As the door closes I approach Yew from behind and give her a firm hug around the waist. Pressing a kiss to her temple I murmur, “Happy Birthday, sweetheart.”

“Thanks, mom,” she answers smiling, wrapping her hands over my arms to return the hug.

“You look beautiful, by the way,” I tell her, and she blushes, craning her neck to see my knowing grin.

“Do you think Hal will think so?” She smooths her hands down the front of the dress.

I laugh, releasing her. “You could shave your head and go around wearing a flour sack and Hal would think you were the most gorgeous thing he’s ever laid eyes on.”

Johanna and her husband, Lomeren will be arriving on the afternoon train with their son Halberd in tow. We will be celebrating Yew’s 18th birthday with a nice dinner, prepared by Peeta of course. Poor Hal has been totally enamored of Yew since the first moment he laid eyes on her when he was five years old. Yew was only a week old, but something about her fascinated him. Hal was Yew’s first and only real crush. While she may flirt with other boys, she has never offered any of them any serious encouragement. And I have known the depth of her affection for Hal since she was 12 years old, when she was utterly devastated to find out he had started seeing someone… and the elation she tried to pretend not to feel when she found out that relationship had ended.

There is a strong awareness between Hal and Yew, and I think all of us expect that it is only a matter of time before they act on it. We all expect it, but Peeta absolutely does not accept it. He has said more than once that Hal is too old, Yew is too young, Hal lives too far away… He is having trouble accepting the fact that his little girl is not a little girl anymore. And he has never admitted it outright, but I know he is afraid his role in her life will be replaced. I try to assure him that no one could ever replace her father- and I speak from experience on the matter- but I think he finds little comfort in my words never having experienced that type of bond with either of his parents.

“Yew,” I say, breaking the momentary silence that has settled between us, “when Hal gets here today… just keep in mind that your dad is having a hard time with all of this. Okay?”

She looks at me with concern in her eyes. “What do you mean?”

“You and Rye are our whole lives. It is not easy for us to see you become an adult. It feels like having to let go, and neither of us are particularly good at that…” I trail off and I know she understands. Peeta and I both feel an intense compulsion to hold tightly to what we have- one of the invisible scars left by our past. “And with you and your father… there is a special bond there. He doesn’t want to lose you, but he knows he has to let you go.”

“Mom, I’m not going anywhere.” She holds out her hands, gesturing toward the house she has grown up in.

“I know that, but you will someday.” Yew’s only response is a shrug as she glances down at her soft green flats. “I’m just saying that I know that you and Hal have been… waiting… a long time for… whatever this is between you, but just be considerate of how hard all of that is on your father.”

I wrap Yew in another hug as she nods her understanding looking somewhat sad.

* * *

 

I almost regret my conversation with Yew this morning as I look at Hal’s despondent countenance as tries and fails for what seems like the millionth time tonight to meet Yew’s eyes or initiate some sort of small physical contact with her. We have just finished dinner and I am following Peeta into the kitchen to help prepare desert when I notice Hal has begun tracing his index finger very lightly down Yew’s forearm where it rests under the table. She allows it for a moment, her face flushing, until he reaches her hand and tries to entwine his fingers hers. When she pulls her hand away gently, looking determinedly toward Haymitch who is regaling the group with a story, Hal looks as though he has just witnessed someone kicking a puppy.

I sigh and push through the door to the kitchen where Peeta is fussing over the cake, which is a masterpiece, of course. I walk up behind him and wrap my arms around his waist and press a kiss to the center of his back. This is a common occurrence between us: Peeta working at the kitchen counter and me just holding on for dear life as he goes about his business.

“How you holding up?” I ask after a few moments.

“I’m good,” he responds, his voice heavy with false brightness.

“ _Peeta,”_ I intone.

He sighs and sets down the pastry bag in his hand. “Katniss, how are we just supposed to accept that she’s not ours anymore? Nothing changed overnight and yet we are supposed to just wake up this morning and accept that she is all grown up. Are we supposed to just embrace the fact that she is not our little girl anymore? That she doesn’t need us anymore?”

_“Peeta._ She will always need us! And she is always going to be out little girl. But you have to figure out a way to get right with this. Because it is happening… and soon. Yew and Hal are crazy for each other, it’s obvious.”

“She’s still too young for that,” he scoffs.

“She’s older than we were when we fell in love,” I point out softly.

He sighs and turns around so that he can return my embrace. We just stand there for a few more moments, Peeta pressing a long kiss into my hair, just like he did with Yew this morning. He lets his hands slowly inch down my back until they are resting indecently low. “I love you, Katniss,” he says lifting his head and then lowering his lips to mine for a lingering kiss. After a few moments he pulls away and lets his words whisper into the shell of my ear in the way he knows always sends a shiver down my spine. “Yew will be okay. Real or Not Real?”

I pull away so that I can meet the clear blue eyes that have anchored me to this world for more than 30 years. Leaning up on my toes so that my lips graze his as I speak I tell him, “Real.”

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, so I hope you enjoyed that. Through Katniss’ narrative she hints at some key moments for Hal and Yew as they grow up. I have so many head canons now regarding this, I feel very compelled to write their story. But I know it is not Everlark… Would anybody be interested in reading about how Hal and Yew grew up together and fell in love? Please let me know your thoughts and I would also love to hear what you thought about this chapter! Thanks so much! (you can find me on tumblr at plumgal1899) :D


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